


The devils in the sky

by rhythmicroman



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: "Devils don't come from hell below us, Big Brother Sans, Gaster is mentioned but not a main character, Gen, OC is one of the human souls, Reader Is Not Frisk, Reader-Insert, Sans is scared of humans, Short Sans, completely platonic, inspired by that one quote in batman v superman, maybe fontcest if you squint???, no, omf y, reader is sans, she's basically me, tall papyrus, they fall from the sky"
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 08:39:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6416587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhythmicroman/pseuds/rhythmicroman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Humans speak of monsters under their 'bed', beneath their feet, forever snarling, forever gnawing at the gates of their hellish prison, forever looking to feast.<br/>Monsters speak of devils in the skies, forever polluting their precious land, forever cursing their beloved families, forever stealing souls and life from just within their grasps.</p>
<p>Somewhere, under their feet, you stir.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beneath their ground

Somewhere, under their feet, you stir.

It’s not been long since you first headed to bed. You can hear the gentle snoring of your brother across the room, and the fast, muffled stomping of your father’s feet as he paces. You wonder what he’s doing, and reach for the doorknob, before stopping yourself.

No. The devils will see.

And you creep back to bed, and pull your duvet tight over your skull, and stare out at the pattern on your blankets, dimly lit by your eyes.

Stars, you think, running a bony finger over the pattern. You must’ve been mumbling, for the snoring halts, and you hear the soft voice of your little brother call your name.

“Sans?” He asks, poking his head out from under his quilt. “Why are you under there? What are you doing?”

You press your forefinger to where your lips would be, and point upwards. “The devils in the sky,” you whisper, “they might see us.”

He lets out a squeak and slides out of bed, his nightclothes hanging loosely off his shoulders, and shuffles over to you, hugging his doll to his chest, and humming slightly.

“Can I come sleep with you?” He asks, voice gentle. “Just tonight.”

You hesitate, but pull back your quilt, and let him scoot in before pulling it up to your chin. He slides down the mattress to match your position and closes his eye sockets.

You wish he’d start softly breathing again, so he wouldn’t ask. But when did wishes ever come true?

“Sans,” he began, snuggling closer, “what’s a devil? And why are they up in the sky?”

Your breath freezes in your throat and you slowly twist your neck to look at him. “They’re up there ‘cos we used to be, too,” you mumble, “and they didn’t like sharing. So they locked us under their ground, and under our sky, and sometimes when you’re asleep I can hear them moving.”

He stopped moving and instead clung desperately to your own oversized shirt. His arms were tense but he seemed alright sitting there.

You shushed him again and pointed upwards. Dad had long since stopped pacing, so it was clearer now.

Music, dripping through the ceiling.

“Maybe the neighbours are partying,” he said, naïve as he is. Half of you wanted to agree, to nod your head and tell yourself off for being so silly, but it wouldn’t be right.

“There are no neighbours in a lab, Papyrus,” your voice comes out rough, “just the devils in the sky. They’re celebrating our downfall.”

He hummed and held you and tried to lengthen his neck somehow, peering through the blackened window. “It sounds like a birthday party.” He whispered.

You so wished that it was true. And so you pressed your skull to his chest, and listened to his soul pulse.

It throbbed and trembled and beat with the strength you’d never muster; it was orange, the colour of Bravery, and sang with confidence beside your blue one.

Integrity and Bravery. What a perfect situation.

And for once, you weren’t afraid of the devils in the skies.

To the sound of your brother’s gentle soul-beats, you drifted off to sleep.


	2. Above your world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You scream. You run. You trip, and cower in fear.
> 
> The devil looks confused. Their eyes sparkle slightly, and they twist their hands awkwardly. They’re in a hoodie, like yours, but red, and their hair is pulled into bunches above their head.
> 
> “Hello,” they say, voice gentle, “I am Rose.”

The mattress is cold under your body. You groan and roll over, and flinch when your hand touches the freezing concrete of your floor.

Your floors are wooden.

And you stare fearfully at this foreign ground, and blink at it, and run your fingers over it.

A bird tweets above your head.

You flinch and scream and roll over - and you keep rolling, down and down, until you land on something soft and firm.

Grass. It doesn’t hurt, but it gets stuck in your fingers. You wiggle them, and it looks funny.

A voice spoke quietly from afar. You perked up to listen, settling on your toes, crouched, with your hands on your thighs. You’re cold without your hoodie, but you don’t mind.

The speech stops mid-sentence, and you lean forwards, to see if you can hear. A hand is placed on your shoulder. It’s warm, and squishy, and smooth.

Your jaw vibrates in a purr and you twist your neck to look up.

You scream. You run. You trip, and cower in fear.

The devil looks confused. Their eyes sparkle slightly, and they twist their hands awkwardly. They’re in a hoodie, like yours, but red-orange, and their hair is pulled into bunches above their head.

“Hello,” they say, voice gentle, “I am Rose.”

You hiss, like a cat. They squeak, and stumble, and fall.

You blink and look away, shielding your eyes. Their skirt fluttered up as they fell. They wear shorts underneath, but it’s still wrong to look, you suppose. They sit up, dizzy, and you almost smile - some sticks have lodged in their bunches. They look like they have horns.

You laugh, and they laugh, too; it’s a soft, gentle, elegant sound, like music, you think. It’s an honest sound, you suppose, and it makes you smile wider.

“Hello Rose,” you say, mimicking their voice. “I am Sans.”

They blink, and open their mouth wide, and let out the laugh again - but this time it’s louder, and heartier, and higher. They snort and chuckle between each laugh, and they pound the floor with their fists.

They wipe a tear from their eyelid, grinning. “I like you,” they say, “you’re funny.”

Your soul swells with pride. You’re glad.

Something cold and wet runs up your pant leg. You shriek and stand up, and the cold water and white stuff drips off.

“It’s just snow!” They say, seeing you panic. “It doesn’t hurt. Promise.”

You slap at the wet spot, as if to dry it with brute force, and rattle your bones to dry off. They laugh. You suppose it does look funny.

“Why ‘m I here?” You ask, blinking. “I was just asleep, at home, wi’ m’ bro.”

They blink back. “I don’t know. I was just in bed in the ruins, and now I’m here.”

You feel their fear, and see their soul pulsing, and take their hand in yours. They smile nervously, and so do you. You walk with their hand in yours, and they walk, too.

Their soul throbbed, and you could feel it in your palm. You squeezed it. It squeezed back.

It was green, like the grass in your fingers.

Kindness and Integrity; what a perfect match.


End file.
